


Random People

by ithehellisbucky



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithehellisbucky/pseuds/ithehellisbucky
Summary: Bucky and y/n are together for one day in the middle of New York City. They meet for the first time 5 years later, and everything has changed.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 13





	Random People

**Author's Note:**

> Requested: None
> 
> Word Count: 4k
> 
> Warnings: Cussing, brief mentions of sexual harassment, brief talks about eviction, general bitchiness
> 
> Author’s Note: This will be a series, with about 5, 6, or 7 parts, it depends on the turn this takes. Whoever guesses who "Manta" is will have access to all future chapters of "Random People" prior to their release. Requests are open. Have a great day, and stay safe out there!

This is the end. Standing on a crosswalk in the middle of a bustling street with people screaming all around you. This is the end. But then again, you never know what the ending is until it’s done. But it isn’t done yet.

6 years. 6 years at that job. A good job. A job with a guarantee of climbing the corporate ladder. A job that you had just been fired from.

Why the fuck were you fired? Stupid bullshitters caught one whiff of a sexual harassment scandal and booted you out without a second thought. And blamed it on your “work ethic”. Stupid Jonah should have been fired instead, he was the one who would wolf whistle and “flirt” (the shitty thing that he tried to claim he was doing instead of sexual harassment) whenever you walking by his desk. Not you.

Then after all of that shit, your landlord evicted you. Said that “you wouldn’t be able to pay the rent” because you were fired. You would’ve been able to throw something together if he had trusted you. If someone had trusted you.

But no one had. You’re just standing in the middle of the street. Without anyone. Trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t the end of the world.

~

This is the beginning. The beginning of something. The beginning of a whole new future. In the middle of the bustling street, there was only one spotlight. And that spotlight is on James Barnes. 

Today was the day. The day to end all other. Bucky’s pulse was the only sound he could make out, even though there was noise all around him. 

“What am I gonna do without you Buck.” He turned around to look at a face he had seen almost every day of his life, a face he almost forgot was standing right next to him.

“I don’t know Steve, but you’re gonna figure it out.” The better question in Bucky’s mind was what the hell he was going to do without Steve. Every day of his life he had seen Steve. What the hell was he going to do without the scrawny kid who wasn’t afraid of a fight but definitely should be? Possibly survive, probably die.

On the inside, Bucky had no idea what the hell he was going to do. All he knew, is that this was the beginning of something. He didn’t know what. All he knew was that it was the beginning

~

An apartment. That’s all you needed. An apartment. One bedroom, one bathroom. Maybe even a kitchen, or a living room if you were lucky. Hell, at this point you’d settle for no windows.

Today is hell. It honestly couldn’t get any worse.

Something hits your back. It was light, and for a moment you thought it could be a pebble or something. You reach behind you and touch the top of your back, right where the fabric of your shirt meets the strap of your backpack.

Nothing was there. You shrug your shoulders and continue to walk along. The same sensation hits your nose. Nothing, again. All there is is a small wet splotch. Oh. Oh no. This is bad. This is worse than bad. This is devastatingly horrible. 

Looking up towards the sky in horror, you wince as another raindrop hits your cheek. The movies were right. You should never say “it can’t get any worse.” Because then it’ll immediately start raining. 

At least it’s only a small drizzle. Nothing too bad could come from it.

…Fuck.

Almost the exact second that thought ran through your mind that a complete and total downpour washed over you. Thunder was crashing all around you, and everyone started running. You pull up your backpack and put it over your head. Like that would do anything to stop the flood that was coming down to you.

If this was a movie you would be running through the rain to your estranged lover, but alas, this isn’t a movie. Instead, you’re running to a diner that is barely in your line of vision. 

As you run towards the diner the wheel of your suitcase gets caught on the curb, causing you to fall over. While pushing yourself off the ground, you look down and see that your knees have been bloodied by the fall. 

Sighing, you straighten your suitcase and continue to walk towards the restaurant at a much slower pace; partially because of your skimmed knees, and partially because your mood is just as hurt.

Once you reach the diner you stand in the foyer, thinking about all the horrific turns this day has taken. Wiping your feet on the mat and putting your backpack back on your back you sigh loudly into the universe. Not to a person, place, or thing, to the universe.

You open the door and take a whiff of fresh coffee and warm waffles. You roll your suitcase over the bump in the doorway and hear a clanging noise. 

The diner was more crowded than most of the other diners you had been to in Brooklyn, and you wonder what makes it so special. The funny thing was that most people weren’t in there to shield themselves from the rain, the majority of people looked like this was just another day, not the day the world was ending.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you walk towards one of the only empty seats at the countertop. There is one empty seat on your left, and the one on your right is taken by a man in a blue business suit.

You take a seat on the stool and plop your suitcase down on the seat beside you. If someone wants to sit there enough they’ll ask. You take a look at the menu in front of you. Within two seconds you had instantly picked out the meal that you wanted: chocolate chip pancakes and a coffee. 

Waiting for the waiter to come over to take your order wasn’t easy. You had just been fired, evicted, and then caught in a goddamn thunderstorm; you aren’t in the mood to be patient.

For a few minutes, the seat next to you was empty. Then, someone walked up being you, and said the exact words: “Is this seat taken.”

~

A rainstorm. Just his luck. Possible the only thing that could happen to take Bucky down a notch had happened, a rainstorm. It may not be the worst thing on the planet, but it’s certainly up there.

Almost the exact second he had said goodbye to Steve for the last time in a long time, the sky opened up its floodgates and poured them down onto him. It was almost as if the weather was reciprocating the emotions he was feeling.

While running to the nearest building he could find, the only thought running through Bucky’s head was how he would find the airport. He barely left Brooklyn, and when he did do it, it was by subway. 

The bell chimed as he entered the building, which he could now see was a diner from the decor. Panting, he looked around the room for a seat. There didn’t seem to be any until he spotted one with a suitcase on it.

The woman that the suitcase presumably belonged to was wearing a purple sweater and blue jeans that stopped midway up her calves. She was (for some twisted reason that was beyond him) wearing cheap yellow flip-flops that looked like they were from dollar tree. Her backpack was black, and the straps were sagging so much that the bottom of the bag reached several inches below the bottom of the seat she was sitting on.

Grumbling, Bucky walked over to the countertop, thinking of how much he didn’t want to deal with some crazy lady wearing yellow flip-flops in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Is this seat taken?” Bucky asks the yellow-flip-flop-wearing-lady with grain in his voice.

~

You turn around, trying to make the exhaustion on your face as clear as humanly possible. Turning to face the man who had so *rudely* interrupted your peaceful, if not depressing, brooding, you plaster a scowl over your face.

However, when you turn to see him, you see something that you were without a doubt not expecting. A handsome young man (dear god you sound like a grandmother).

He’s wearing a brown coat, and the shirt beneath it is a navy blue. He’s wearing a pair of dirty blue jeans, and it looks like the second or third time they’ve been worn without being washed. The black baseball hat he’s wearing somehow matches perfectly with the rest of the ensemble. His dark brown hair is tousled in a way that’s halfway between “fuckboy” and “my hair is messy because I was busy making you breakfast at 8 AM and I didn’t have time to brush it.”

But even when you take all of this into account (his flawless body, hair, face, eyes, and general vibe) you couldn’t bring yourself to be nice to him on such a shitty day. “What the fuck is your problem.”

Instead of acting offended, or gasping in horror, he simply rolls his eyes. Yep, definitely a New York native.

“My fucking problem is that your backpack is in the seat I need to sit in.” He almost looks more annoyed that you… Almost.

You roughly pull your suitcase off of the stool and onto the floor, not breaking eye contact with the fuckboy (that is the option that you have decided to go with since he’s pissed you off this much).

He kicks your suitcase out of the way, and for a second he looks at you like he’s expecting a big ass reaction, instead, all you do is scoff and stare straight in front of you.

The waiter walks up to you, and within a heartbeat, you can tell that she’s new to Brooklyn. She has straight and perfectly combed black hair that doesn’t have a single hair loose. She has perfectly straight posture, and the look in her eyes of someone who hasn’t seen someone pee on a subway. Not to mention that that makeup matches with her skin tone perfectly, not the half-toned shit that’s 2 shades off your skin tone that you wear.

“Can I take your order?” Her voice is far too cheery for a diner in Brooklyn, even the waiters who fake it for the tips couldn’t muster up that much positivity.

Feigning a smile you simply say, “chocolate chip pancakes, and coffee as black as my heart.” The waitress looked taken aback, and the sickly sweet smile that you choose to plaster on your face remained the same. “Thanks,” you look to see her nametag “Manta.”

Fuckboy snorts, and you can tell that he is far more amused by the situation than you are. “And all have the eggs and sausage with the-” snort “coffee as black as her heart.”

‘Manta’ has an awkward look on her face, and you can tell that she is trying to push the negative emotions down. Her face soon perks up, and as she takes your menus she responds with: “I’ll have that right out for you." 

Your smile remains sickly sweet as she walks away, but it immediately drops the second she leaves your eyesight.

"Why the fuck are you wearing yellow flip-flops?” Fuckboy says with a sneer.

“Why the fuck aren’t you wearing yellow flip-flops.” You respond, raising both your eyebrows and speaking in a mocking tone.

~

This lady is getting on Bucky’s fucking nerves. She acted like she ran the fucking place, when in fact the only thing she had control over her fucking flip-flops. He was trying not to be a sexist bitch, but Bucky was wondering how anyone could be so shit-headed.

In Bucky’s eyes, today was supposed to be the perfect day. Starting over. Joining the military. Yet in “Yellow” (the name Bucky choose to call her in his head because of her obnoxious yellow flip-flops) seemed to be put on this earth to make Bucky feel any emotion but happiness. Fine, two could play at that game.

“You know, I was having a decent fucking day, so I would appreciate if you try not to ruin what’s left of it.” He said while staring at the clock and wondering how quickly he could get out of the establishment.

“We don’t always get what we want.” She shook her head in a way that made it seem like she was mocking him, which she didn’t seem to be doing. Even if she was, she was doing it horribly.

“Can’t I get what I want this fucking time.” Bucky reaches into his pocket and rolls around a cigarette that he hasn’t had the chance to smoke yet, and contemplates what the consequences of him pulling it out would be.

“No, apparently you can’t,” Yellow responds. Both of them were staring ahead into nothing. 

The waitress, Manta, comes back with Yellow’s pancakes. Yellow’s fake sugary sweet demeanor returns and Bucky can tell under the artificial smile she seems slightly happy to receive the food.

Manta puts a coffee in front of each of them, and when she speaks she does it with her trademark smile, “Your sausage and eggs will be right out sir.”

Putting on a fake smile (unlike Yellow he actually meant to be nice, and not just to be evil) he said: “thank you so much.”

After receiving his coffee he turned to Yellow and said: “What the fuck made you act this way? Why in God’s name would you be so horrible to someone who had done absolutely nothing.”

Her head snaps back over to Bucky, and she makes piercing eye contact. “You know what made me act this way. You know fucking why?” Yellow seemed to actually state this as a question, but before Bucky could respond she continued.

“I was fucking fired because some shithead said he wanted to get in my jeans. Then I was evicted from my apartment by my asshole landlord. I have nothing and no one in my life that needs me, so why the fuck should I act happy.” She pauses to catch her breath, then continues on her tirade. 

“I’ve been nice to people who haven’t deserved my entire fucking life, and I’m so fucking sick of it. You have a look on your face that says that the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make was to fuck someone from the front or the back. Get the fuck over yourself, some people have shit to deal with.”

~

Why the fuck had you just explained your life story to a stranger. No idea. It just felt kind of right. In a weird and twisted way, you felted more comforted with this stranger than around assholes you had known your whole life.

“I’m sorry you went through that, but that doesn’t mean you get to treat people like shit,” Fuckboy said in a tone softer than any that someone had spoken to you in years.

Before you know what’s happening you feel tears welling up in your eyes. “You’re probably right. Shit, no. You’re definitely right. I swear to god that I’ve never acted this way before. It’s just, today is different.” You look over to Fuckboy and shrug your head. “I’ve always had shit days, it’s just that today was takes the cake.”

Fuckboy looks down at his shoes and then back up at you. “Listen, I’m not sorry for what I said, I just want you to know that I believe you. From the story, you told me I’m pretty sure you’re not used to people saying that to you.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He says in a tone that you’re certain you haven’t been spoken to before.

“I do too.” You exclaim as you twist your lips around, keeping at least one part of your body busy as your mind roams Fuckboy’s mannerisms.

“Here’s your egg and sausage, sir.” Manta puts a plate down in front of Fuckboy, much to his delight.

Fuckboy immediately stuffs his face with the sausage, and then looks over and glares at you. Understanding what his eyes were saying, you turn to face Manta.

“I’m sorry Manta. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’ve had a long day, and, I don’t know. It’s not really an excuse, I’m just sorry.” You look at her in hope, with a neutral expression on your face.

For a second you think she’s going to react badly, and then she perks up again, excited by your apology. “Don’t worry about it! We all have our bad days, and I just happened to catch you on yours." 

You let out a sigh of relief and smile a genuine smile at her acceptance. "Um, here’s my card; I don’t work at the place listed there anymore, but the personal number still works. If you ever need a favor, just call me. I’m almost always by my phone, and what I mean by that is that I’m almost always scrolling through supermodels Insta feeds.”

Upon excepting the card Manta perked up even more, “Thank you so much.”

~

“So, how am I doing?” Yellow asks Bucky.

“…Actually pretty good. I’m super impressed that you can just turn it off and on like that, pretty twisted superpower.” He exclaims with a chuckle.

“Thank you, for your overwhelming support,” Yellow responds. After hearing her say this Bucky lets out a chuckle, and in his heart of hearts he truly means it. 

“So, what’s your life story. I already told you mine.” Yellow Pauses to think for a second. “I swear if it’s more depressing than mine, I’m going to be super pissed.”

Bucky ponders the question for a moment, and then answers with: “Nothing too horrible I have a sister named Rebecca, my mom is my favorite person. I have a scrawny best friend named Steve.” Bucky continues to think for a few more seconds and then, like a lightbulb, Bucky remembers something that is very important to his story. “And I am joining the military, today.”

Yellow’s jaw drops to the fucking floor, much to Bucky’s amusement. “I’m so fucking sorry. If I had known I probably would of, well, done the same thing.” She pauses and looks the other way in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, I wasn’t really attached to my pride anyway.” Yellow feigned shock and Bucky responded by chuckling. He was really liking her more and more as the moments passed.

“Oh, and by the way, my name is-” She started to say, but then Bucky quickly cut her off. 

“I don’t want to know your name. I’ll probably never see you after today, and I don’t want another thing to miss.” Bucky knew that he wanted to know her name, but he also knew that he’d regret it if he found out.

Yellow raised her eyebrows in confusion (Bucky was beginning to think that this was a mannerism of hers) but she soon realized what he was getting at and then lowered them. “Okay, so then what do you propose you call me then?”

Bucky wanted to act like he was pondering this question, even when in reality he had made up the nickname in his head. “Yellow, because of your flip-flops.”

“Again with the flip-flops! What is with your obsession?!” She counters with a laugh.

“So my name is-” Bucky says with a smile, counteracting her statement.

“Na-ah-ah,” Yellow responds, waving her finger in front of Bucky’s face as if to scold him, much to his amusement. “If I get a codename, so do you.”

“What’s it gonna be?” Bucky asks entertained by this entire conversation, and curious to see what nickname she was going to give him.

“Fuckboy.” She says, making a definite stance.

“Thank you, for that overwhelming compliment,” Bucky responds, slightly taken aback by her brutal remark.

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s because of your hair.” She says, her grin growing wider by the minute.

“My hair?” Bucky responds, not sure of what to do with that piece of information.

“Yes your hair, gives off major Jack Dawson vibes.” She counters with a chuckle.

“So Jack is suddenly is suddenly a fuckboy?” Bucky exclaims as he takes another bite of his eggs.

“Need I remind you that he painted women nude in fucking France.” She says right before swallowing a bite of her pancakes.

“I get your point, Fuckboy it is,” Bucky says with a smile that lights up his entire face, causing a chain reaction on Yellow.

~

Fuckboy was charming. Then again, all fuckboys are charming. But he seemed different, he seemed… Softer. 

“Why are you joining the military, if you don’t mind me asking.” You exclaim as you twirl your finger around on the rim of your coffee. 

“I dunno; my entire life I just wanted to help people, and I found a way to do that using something I’m good at. Fighting.” He exclaims through a full mouth of eggs.

“It sounds like you do know.” You say a second before you put another bite of pancake into your mouth.

“Know what?” Fuckboy asks you through a mouth full of eggs.

“Why you’re joining the military.” You say, your mouth equally as stuffed.

“That’s what I tell people.” He says, looking over to you with endearing eyes. “I really don’t know why. If I think too hard about it I come to the conclusion that it’s because I know my life will have come to nothing if I don’t do something noteworthy.”

His brow creases, and you ponder for a second what your response will be. “How do you know that you’ll do something noteworthy in the army? How do you know that your life won’t end up as anything no matter how hard you try to make it do the opposite." 

Fuckboy turns to look at you, amusement resting on his features. "Thank you for the vote of encouragement.”

“I’m only saying this because I don’t think you could ever be nothing. I immediately classified you as a Leonardo DiCaprio type, that’s not nothing. You’re going to do great thing’s whether it’s in the military or not.”

Fuckboy looks up from his eggs in earnest. “Thank you for saying that, it makes me feel a lot better.”

“The trick is to be as brutally honest as possible. You’re bound to say at least one thing right if 89% of everything you say is completely and totally devastating bullshit.”

You finish off the last bite of your pancake and pick up your suitcase from the floor. “Well, I expect payment from my words of wisdom to be the eight dollars for my pancakes, peace out!”

This conversation had become too emotional, you knew you would have gotten attached if you continued the conversation.

“Wait no!” Fuckboy catches your arm, and your secretly happy that he wanted you to stay with him.

“I don’t have to check in until six, so would you like to stay with me until then? I was going to go around some landmarks, and maybe see a broadway show, but I would appreciate it if you stayed with me, for just these few hours.”

His forehead was doing that cute crease thing, and you faked internal conflict before saying what was always on your mind through it all: “yes.”

His face practically explodes with excitement, and yours does too. You and Fuckboy didn’t have forever, but at least you had today. And you were going to live this day as if it were your last.


End file.
